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Diary of a Devoted Sister

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I’ve never spoken to anyone about what happened that summer, the summer in Italy . Not Cathy, my closest friend. Certainly not my family, although I tried so, so many times to find the courage to tell my sister, thinking, hoping she might understand. But she wouldn’t. My husband? No. It would kill him. It would be the end of us. Not even him. My brother… there, I said it. My brother. God, my little brother. What happened scares me. He scares me. No, that’s not right. We scare me. So it’s time that I write it all down. Now, before I go crazy. Where do I begin? Italy ? Intoxicating, sun drenched Italy. Up north, where you can see the snow-crested Alps from Lago Maggiore on a clear day. *** Gerry was laughing as he pressed the accelerator of our rented Fiat to the floor. The two of us were on the Autostrade, on our way into Milan. The windows were down and the sunroof was open. Warm, dry wind ripped through the cabin, mangling our hair and wrecking our maps. I could barely hear the radio over the rushing air. My brother had only gotten his driver’s license a month earlier back in North Carolina. Against my better judgment, I let him take the wheel, once we had gotten past Varese. My judgment, it turns out, was more than a little off that entire trip. “Gerry, you’re doing almost 150 kilometers per hour.” I yelled. “Excellent,” Gerry glanced at the speedometer and knitted his brow. He seemed determined to beat the cheap little car to pieces. “How fast is that in American?” “Slowwww dowwwwn!” In American? What an idiot. Rolling his eyes, he eased off the gas. He turned to me with that big grin of his, white teeth lighting up his suntanned face. “Better, Lynnie?” “Don’t call me that; I hate it,” I shifted in my seat, pressing my back against the door, to face him. “Better… at least now we can talk.” I saw my kid brother steal a quick glance at my legs. What a hound , I thought. Maybe these jean shorts aren’t right for a trip to the city. “Eyes on the road,” I warned him. “I want to hear more about your college visits.” Gerry was a three sport athlete in high school. Baseball wasn’t his favorite sport but, when his fastball was clocked at nearly 90 mph last season, the college scouts began calling. Now, at only seventeen and entering his senior year, he had some big decisions to make. We came from an athletic family. Our dad and uncle swam for the Irish Olympic team back in the Dark Ages. My sister and I had been collegiate swimmers as well. Sheila held some conference records. Mom had run track in high school and looked like she could still turn in a decent mile. I thought about our day at the lake yesterday, Gerry cutting through the water with long, smooth, powerful strokes. His sinewy 6’ 3” body was literally born to swim, I thought. Yet he had abruptly stopped competing at age fourteen, in favor of team sports. My father didn’t talk to him for a week. “You know,” şişli escort I said, apropos of nothing. “You could have been a great swimmer.” Gerry turned to me, looking over the top of his retro Ray Bans. “I am a great swimmer.” I laughed at his brashness and swagger. Idiot, I thought again. Cute… but an idiot. *** I was spending a few weeks with my parents and brother. My husband is a US naval officer and his ship was part of a NATO training exercise in the Mediterranean. My parents paid for my flight and I hoped to rendezvous once or twice with Ted when his ship put in at ports of call. We had been married for a little over a year. I was twenty-four that summer and he was eight years older. My mother had inherited some property in Italy from her aunt and she had to be there to sign papers and settle the estate. My parents decided to make a vacation out of the trip. My brother begged to be left home to play in a summer league, but they were not about to leave him alone for a month. The plan was for me to spend a couple of weeks with them and keep Gerry out of trouble. They were staying in the quaint old house my mom had inherited. It was in a little town on Lake Como . It is hard to imagine a more beautiful setting. Lush green hills, dotted with red terra cotta roofs, tumbled down to the blue water. Ancient villages dotted the irregular shore line. It was as if time had forgotten this corner of the world. So while my parents were busy with lawyers and magistrates, or visiting with my mother’s family, Gerry and I would sometimes strike out on our own. We rode the train into Switzerland, took in museums in Milan, and spent long afternoons together on the lake. I spoke a little Italian and there always seemed to be someone around who understood English. Being seven years older than my brother, it had been a long time since I had left for college and I enjoyed getting to know him again. I especially liked torturing him with questions about his love life, or lack of it. Despite his prowess on the field, my brother hadn’t made a lot of progress in the romance department. He’d only had one girlfriend and it sounded like she wasn’t ready to go beyond feverish make out sessions and light petting. Bro was one frustrated Tar Heel. *** I was reading on the bedroom terrace to the light of a small lamp when Gerry came back from a long evening run. The sun had begun to set and I idly wondered if he had gotten lost out there. The house had only two bedrooms so the two of us had to share a bed. Although I complained, I really didn’t mind. I secretly enjoyed watching the young athlete traipse helplessly around in his underwear every morning, looking for his tee shirt or jeans. He was just my brother but there was something nice about having him next to me when I fell asleep at night. I liked how he smelled and I liked listening to his long, regular breaths mecidiyeköy escort when he drifted off. He was shirtless now, his chest and back dripping, his shorts darkened with sweat. “Man, great run,” He puffed, pulling off his running shoes without bothering with the laces. “You should’ve come. There was some kind of concert down on the lake. What’re you doing out here?” “ Reading , genius. Hey, make sure you throw those disgusting shorts and socks in the hamper,” I said. “And get in the bath. I don’t need a smelly boy in my bed tonight.” Gerry shrugged, peeled down to a pair of skimpy compression shorts and headed for the bathroom. Nice buns, I thought. In a minute I heard the squeak of the faucet and the sound of water splashing into the tub. The old house had never been modernized with such amenities as showers. The plumbing in general was pretty sketchy. When I heard the water stop, I knew it was safe to get undressed for bed. I removed my shorts, shirt, and bra, grabbed a big sleeveless tee shirt from Gerry’s drawer, and pulled it on. It was long enough to cover my panties. I had a habit of wearing clothes belonging to the men I’ve known. In retrospect, maybe it was my way of marking them. “Okay to come in?” I asked, rapping on the bathroom door. “Yep. Just me and my bubbles.” Gerry’s head was propped on the back of the tub with a wet cloth over his face. With muscled arms draped on the sides and one knee rising from the bubbles, he looked like a god damned GQ ad. Jesus, it’s been too long since I’ve gotten laid, I thought. We made small talk while I brushed my teeth and washed my face. I glanced at him in the mirror and saw that he had removed the face cloth and was looking me over. I decided to have a little fun. I walked over to the tub, put my feet in the warm water, and sat on the edge. I must have known at the time I was playing with fire. I should have just turned around and left. “S’matter? Don’t like me wearing your stuff?” “Well, no… I mean, its fine.” He looked down at the surface of the water. “Don’t worry, I can’t see anything through those bubbles.” I leaned over the water to reach for a bar of soap, knowing he could see my pointy little tits through the arm hole of the oversized shirt. I knew it was wrong, but letting him see me made me feel tingly. I know that everything that happened from that point forward was completely my fault. “My feet are filthy from walking around on that terrace.” I crossed one ankle onto my knee and soaped up my size eight, repeating the maneuver with the opposite foot. “So Thursday is pink panties day?” Gerry was smiling at me, pointing to my crotch with his eyes. “Shit head,” I said splashing a handful of soapy water in his face. I stepped out of the tub, grabbed a towel, and headed for the door. My heart was racing and I knew I had taken my sexy little game too far. I decided to get in mecidiyeköy eskort bed and play with myself. “I’m gonna read in bed,” I said over my shoulder. “Later, bro.” *** It must have been one, maybe two in the morning. I reluctantly opened one sleepy eye a crack and noted that the moon had risen high. Pale light poured in through windows and terrace doors, painting the room a ghostly hue. Something had stirred me. What was it? Yes… there it was, something warmly, softly grazing my bottom. It moved over my cotton undies from one cheek to the other, soooo slowly. Mmmmm that’s nice, I thought. I began to drift away when… wait. Gerry was in bed with me. I was being fondled by my brother! I was lying on my stomach, arms under my pillow, head turned toward the windows. I couldn’t see him but, now more awake, I felt deliberate movements to my left. I didn’t know how to handle this. I did not want a scene. If I just pretend to be asleep, I thought, maybe he’ll be satisfied with the free feel and leave it at that. I tried to breathe evenly so as not to give myself away. But his exploration continued. He seemed bolder now, squeezing each cheek ever so slightly as his roaming hand moved back and forth. I had to admit it felt good, despite my alarm. I caught myself stupidly wondering if he liked my ass, if he appreciated all the working out I did. Get a grip, I told myself. If he stopped now, there would be no harm done. It would be as if this never happened. Of course, he didn’t stop. His hand eventually paused right over my crack and I felt a finger, the middle one I guessed, probe carefully between my cheeks. The direction of movement was up and down now. I don’t know why I did it, instinct I suppose, but I pushed my right knee out toward the edge of the bed. Idiot! Gerry froze. I sensed his entire body tighten. He was afraid he had awoken me. It’s about time, I thought. Maybe this was over. It wasn’t over. After about a minute, Gerry decided I was still asleep. My leg shift had opened up new territory and he seemed bound to inspect it. The finger boldly moved down over the crotch of my panties and tenderly traced the outline of my groove. Up and down it moved, feather soft. God, he must be horny, I thought, to risk this. I knew I was getting turned on as well and worried that he would feel moisture through the flimsy material. Just stay calm and breathe, I reminded myself; he can’t do much more without completely blowing it. That’s when his finger slipped under the elastic. That’s it! I hopped onto my butt and snapped on the lamp in one motion. “Gerry! What’re you DOING?!” He stared at me in shock. I almost laughed at the expression on his face. He had bounced onto his knees in the commotion, throwing the sheet off our bed. “I… I… unngh,” He dropped his head resignedly. “I’m sorry.” He sank back and studied his hands, speechless. Upset as I was, I felt terrible at the sight of my proud, beautiful brother, bowed and humbled. A pang of guilt stabbed me. “I never meant… I don’t…” he mumbled, not looking at me. “Listen, it’s okay. You didn’t really do anything,” I said shakily, knees drawn to my chest. “I won’t say anything.

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